


I Know Those Eyes (This Man is Dead)

by ShhImWriting



Series: Paulkins Count of Monte Cristo AU [1]
Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Big surprise, Bitterness, Dancing, Edgar is essentially the same character as Albert, Emma is Mercedes, F/M, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here’s a one shot, I just changed the name and the age, Implied Sexual Content, Its also a songfic, Paul is Edmond, Ted is Fernand, Ted is not a good person, This is a Count of Monte Cristo Musical AU, hope you guys like it!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShhImWriting/pseuds/ShhImWriting
Summary: After ten years in a loveless marriage, Emma Perkins-Mondego has been mourning a love that she lost many years ago.A love that was torn from her before she knew what to do.A pair of eyes that haunts every dream she can afford to have.In spite of the pain, she does what she can to carry on, holding the memory of the love of her life in her heart, trying to keep the guilt and brokenness at bay.However, a mysterious party and a familiar host return her dead to her in a way that both torments her and gives her hope.The world insists that Paul Matthews is dead...but a pair of eyes suggest otherwise.Paulkins Monte Cristo Au!!!!
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Series: Paulkins Count of Monte Cristo AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2020787
Comments: 18
Kudos: 18





	I Know Those Eyes (This Man is Dead)

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is a Count of Monte Cristo Au!!!  
> I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so I just had to write it.
> 
> I am STILL working on ‘On the Outside Looking In’, but I could not get Monte Cristo Paulkins out of my head!!! It was weird.
> 
> Also, Ted stans I’m so sorry, I couldn’t think of another Sleaze ball, so Teds supposed to be Fernand

Emma sighed as she made her way about the party, the loud sounds of senseless chatter and pandering to the tastes of the wealthy and corrupt, making a small pain in her head grow.

She hated these events. 

There was once a time in her life where she might have enjoyed it merely for the sake of making fun of the peacocks that liked to flaunt themselves amongst the wealthy...trying to prove something that didn’t matter in the end. Her sister had enjoyed them, but Jane was long dead, leaving behind her own son and husband, and joining...someone who had meant more to Emma than the whole world. 

She wished she could find joy in the music, the dancing, and the laughter, but those were all things of the past for her...a time when the world had been hers.

Still, she found joy in the smile of her son, Edgar, only ten years old and still so much like his father. He enjoyed these functions, of course, in spite of his inability to commune with the elder and much more pompous members of society. He did admire the music, of course, and had good rhythm and was a skilled dancer as she had been when she was much younger.

He was much like her, dark hair, tanned skin, mischievous and knowing grin, but his eyes…those were his fathers.

“ _Emma!”_

The sound of her husband's voice snapped her out of her thoughts, pulling her back to the unhappy reality of her life. A life where she had to make choices after devastating events. A life where the only glimmer of hope or memory of a past life filled with joy was found in the smile of her son. 

She straightened her dark green empire-waist dress, pulling on the satin gloves so they stretched up her arm’s length. She tried to ignore the pins and combs that stabbed into her skull, wishing she had the resolve to rebel and wear it with flowers instead of the uncomfortable jewelry her husband had all but demanded she wear for the event. 

She liked this dress, unlike so many of the ones her husband had bought her, as it reminded her of the gardens and foliage she would walk amongst when she was younger. When the company was sweeter and much more welcoming.

With the gold embroidery of flowers and trees that trailed down the length of her skirt, accented with an assortment of colorful beads, she was reminded of an era where every moment was filled with the promises of a future where she would be happy. With a husband who loved her. 

But that had been stolen away. She had a choice to make, and she had to settle. 

She sighed as she turned to meet her husband, who looked vaguely bemused, and definitely inebriated, trailing behind her enthusiastic son. The mere sight of that bright smile was enough to bring a small smile to her face. 

“Mother!” Edgar smiled, all but running up to her, looking absolutely handsome in his formal suit with a dark blue vest. 

“Yes, darling?” she greeted him as he let go of her husband’s hands to grab her own. 

Before Edgar could say anything else, her husband spoke annoyedly. 

“Is your name not Emma Mondego?” he demanded, his mustache pasted down to his face with some grease. 

She inhaled sharply and nodded, “Yes, Theodore, it is.”

“Then you answer when I call, dammit!” he almost shouted, drawing the attention of a few partygoers and making Edgar jump slightly. 

Had she been younger, and full of the livelihood she’d once felt, she would have had a clever and scathing retort on her lips for her pig of a husband. 

She’d not wanted to marry him, she’d known that. It was fear and pain that had driven her to do what she’d done. A decision she regretted the moment she’d made those damning vows at the altar, all those years ago.

So, rather than commenting on the fact that he was stinking drunk, or the fact that he should at the very least _try_ to appear like he hadn’t been keeping up with his philandering with Lady Charlotte, she merely nodded. 

He gave her a gruff nod in response before taking her elbow roughly, “Come on now, the boy wants us to meet our host.”

Ah yes. Their host. 

A man who’d saved her son’s life in the days before.

Nobody knew who this mysterious count was, exactly. Nobody even knew his first name. They didn’t know from where he hailed, or if he had any familial ties at court. All she knew, was that her son was nearly kidnapped around the docks in the days before and this man had saved him. 

She’d be lying if she hadn’t wished she could thank him. 

Her son was her life now. Her only source of joy that she found in a world that had been cruel to her in her youth, Whoever their mysterious host was, he’d essentially saved her life. 

Not that it mattered to Ted, of course. Ted couldn’t give a second thought when it came to Edgar’s safety. Edgar was too young to realize it, but there was a coldness in the man’s gaze when he looked at him. A cold sense of nonchalant regard that she had seen in her parent’s eyes when they looked at her. It was like a stab in her gut every time she saw him look at her son with contempt. 

Ted cared about two things. 

His image, and his addictions. 

Whether it was women, alcohol, or gambling, Ted, who had once seemed like her best option for a marriage, had run their household into the ground. It was a miracle that they were still held in such high regard with other families. She only cared about keeping her son safe and alive. It was all she had to care about nowadays. 

Ted, however, cared about nothing that mattered. 

Reluctantly she offered a nod and followed him and her son through the ballroom, taking moments to marvel at the floral arrangements that seemed to be around every corner. Several of her favorite flowers in delicate, deliberate arrangements that made the color explode amongst the populace. 

Eventually, they came to the edge of a stairwell. Edgar bustled forward to greet a man, in a dark blue velvet jacket, drawing his attention from another few wealthy socialites that were pecking away at his attention. Emma had to try _really_ hard not to roll her eyes. 

“My friend,” Edgar greeted him, sounding so formal in spite of his enthusiasm, “Allow me to present my father and my mother. The Count and Countess Mondego.” 

Ted stepped forward as Emma’s gaze fell to the floor, at the very least _trying_ to appear like the demure wife whose shoes she’d been forced to fill. 

“Father,” Edgar began formally, Emma smiling slightly at the wildness betrayed slightly underneath his manners, “May I present my friend, the Count of Monte Cristo.”

Emma remained glancing at the man’s boots, not daring to look up unless directed to by Ted, lest she wanted to face his drunken wrath later.

“Your Lordship,” Ted began, taking on the rather annoying guise of a gentleman he most certainly was not, “I am Count Theodore Spankoffski Mondego of the House Mondego...may I just say, we are forever in your debt for the gracious deed in which you saved our sons life.”

Emma had to stifle another eye roll as their mysterious host responded, with perfect manners that sounded almost...rehearsed. Typical of high society peacocks.

“Monsieur,” he spoke, his voice pleasant and almost...familiar in the emphasis on particular vowels, “It is my pleasure. Your son is a brilliant boy, and I’ve grown fond of his company. It would be a shame to see such brightness go to waste.”

Ted made a small nonchalant sound, asif the talk of the boy was making him grow restless, “Allow me to present my wife, the Countess Mondego.”

Ah, there was her cue. 

She curtsied lightly before finally glancing up to meet the eyes of her son’s savior. 

The eyes of…

Her heart beat faster as she met his gaze, her mind suddenly racing against the wind of doubt and fear.

In those eyes…there was familiarity.

She was met by a pair of strikingly blue eyes. They belonged to a man with pale skin and neat brown hair that was combed off to the side. The blue of his waistcoat and jacket brought out their shade as he regarded her with a politeness that she’d most definitely seen before. His face wasn’t cleanly shaven, rather the foundations of a beard forming neatly. In spite of this, her heart picked up the face as she recognized the eyes instantly.

There was no mistaking it.

She’d only known two people with eyes like that before.

One of them was her son, and the other was dead.

Still, her mind dared to dream.

_Could it be?_

_Could it be that you’ve come back to life?_

She knew those eyes as they followed her gaze, unable to make sense of what she was seeing. 

They were dark, and deep, and familiar. Deep as the sea, she’d once called them. 

And that face...she knew it.

Strange as it seemed, a younger and kinder version of it haunted her every dream. Dreams where she was reminded of a happier time. A love she’d wanted too much to lose...and yet she had.

As she took in the gaze of the man she once loved more than anything else in the world, her mind was flooded with memories.

In spite of the familiarity of his eyes, there was a coldness that hid away what she’d once fallen in love with. 

How could he stand there...a mere whisper from her and yet, seem so far away?

As he lifted her gloved hand and pressed a light kiss to it, she felt torturing memories, like a sharp dagger, tear through her as words she never got to say welled up in her throat.

In eyes once familiar, a stranger was all she could see.

And there were so many words left to say.

—-

They’d been young once.

Back in the days when life was easy and simple, he’d had such hopes for life.

All those hopes and dreams had been snatched from him in the blink of an eye.

Paul Matthews was raised to be an honest man.

His parents had drilled the codes of honor and morality into him from the moment he was born. He knew to be honest and fair and think with his heart rather than the money in his pocket.

It was these things that had brought him good fortune.

He’d become a sailor, working for a shipping company at such a young age and working up in the ranks amongst his peers and friends.

He’d risen in the regard of Mr. Davidson (God rest his soul), and earned the rank of captain before he knew it.

He’d fallen in love.

When he’d met Emma as a child, he knew she was the most beautiful and exquisite person he’d ever laid eyes on. Most people spoke of her as if she was a demon sent from deepest hell. A pestilence in comparison to her sister, who was so angelic and intelligent in the eyes of his own parents, but when he’d first seen her, he’d fallen hard for her. She was smart, biting, witty, and vivacious, in spite of her inability to enjoy the company of many. He had already been friends with Ted Mondego at the time, and she’d known him already, so once he was introduced to her, he’d stumbled over every word. 

Still, rather than laughing at him, in true Emma Perkins fashion, she’d smiled at him, and proceeded to spend as much time as they could together. As time went on, and they began officially courting, he knew she was the one he wanted to spend his whole life with.

They’d sneak into gardens or the forests, stealing subtle kisses behind the backs of those who demanded propriety. Everything was sweet and tender in those days. Everything was perfect.

Following Mr. Davidson’s death, Paul had been promoted to Captain, allowing him to finally earn enough money where he could marry Emma. 

He’d proposed and she’d accepted quickly, making him feel like he was the happiest, most fortunate man alive.

That night, they’d gone down to the beach, the lights from the city casting a small golden glow on the beautiful darkness that had enveloped them. They were alone, only needing one another as they lay against the sand staring at the stars, promising that like the presence of the stars in the sky, their love was eternal.

That night they’d been together, enveloping one another in warmth and love that neither wanted to forget.

Kissing one another.

Touching one another.

Revering one another.

Whispering promises to one another in the dark that neither of them had any intention of breaking.

Against the cool sand they showered one another in affection and tenderness that they hoped would continue into their golden years, both ready for a life they’d both wanted for so long.

And for that moment, everything was perfect.

Until that moment ended.

She’d been spending the night with him. Having snuck into his home, that they’d already considered _theirs_ , to steal as many blissful moments as they could.

They’d been ready to go to sleep in one another’s arms, cuddling close to one another in the warmth of the summer's evening, when the doors had been broken down and they’d both been dragged out of bed.

Before he knew it, he was being beaten and dragged away from Emma, bleeding and in irons. Even as he was in pain, he could hear Emma’s cries of protest from their room as he was dragged away. 

The false charges were being read to him.

He was a criminal.

He could do nothing as he was thrown into the dark of a prison, subjected to the sadistic inclination of prison wardens, who almost always held weapons such as whips or clubs, taking it to the prisoners who _dared_ to show a slightest bit of hope. The scars that he’d been given while he remained in the cold darkness of the Chateau D’If, would marr him for the rest of his life.

He’d encountered a wise man, Abbe Hidgens, who allowed him to realize his error in making friends with Ted Mondego, who’d been the one to get him arrested. He’d been upset of course, but for the most part he’d only been desperate to return to Emma. He spent as long as he could thinking about her, finding solace in her memory. In the remembrance of their promises. Of the stars that would forever bear tribute to their love. On the worst days, remembering her embrace was the only thing that prompted him to wake up again.

Following Abbe Hidgens’ death, he’d managed to escape and find the aid of pirates, from whom he’d earned respect, and as a result was able to lead them to Hidgens’ greatest secret. A vast expanse of wealth that he was sure could pay whatever price he needed.

The rage hadn’t come until _after_ he’d found the trove of treasure, and returned to France.

Apparently, to everyone who’d known him, Paul Matthews had died a month after he’d been imprisoned.

But that wasn’t even the most jarring part.

Less than three months after Paul had ‘died’ , Emma Perkins became Emma Mondego, married to the very person responsible for putting him through ten brutal years of darkness and pain.

Then, the rage came.

He was filled with it. Blinded by it.

It was what had driven him to stage a kidnapping for her son, so he might get close to them. Close enough to make Ted pay.

He’d organized the ball with the knowledge that Emma and Ted would be there. And he’d watched as they arrived.

As soon as he’d spied them across the dance floor, his breath had been stolen from his chest.

Even after so long, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

She was older now, yes, as she approached thirty years old, but his heart swelled at the sight of her. It only went to show how in ten years the heart could remember everything that bitterness had tried so hard to conceal. It only went to show how much he loved...

_No._

_She’d betrayed him._

_She’d broken their promises that they’d made to one another long before the name of Paul Matthews was disgraced and thrown into nothingness._

He had to remember…

Paul Matthews was dead.

He was now the Count of Monte Cristo.

He tried to focus on that as he edged young Edgar into introducing him to them.

Now, as he kissed her glove, he could see in her eyes a kind of anguish that should have brought him a form of satisfaction. 

It didn’t.

All he could feel was numb. 

“Sir…” she began struggling to find her words as her gaze refused to leave his.

She met his eyes again, an emotion he could feel somewhere deep in his heart apparent on her face.

_Ah. So she did remember him._

Ted snorted, oblivious to his wife’s disdain, “Speak up, woman.”

Paul had to stifle any form of anger that rose in his chest. He wanted so badly to snap at Ted to treat Emma with respect, but he had a plan in mind. A plan he’d stick to.

Emma sighed and looked down, filling his heart with a kind of sadness. In her eyes, he could still see the wildness he’d fallen in love with, and yet, it was all suppressed beneath the facade of a dutiful wife. 

“Sir,” she began again, glancing up to meet his eyes with the same kind of bewilderment, “There...there are no words to describe the kind of gratitude a mother can express for a man responsible for saving her son.”

He nodded respectfully, “Madame, it was my pleasure.”

In spite of his anger towards the child, he couldn’t deny a sort of fondness that he had for him. After all, it wasn’t the boys fault that his father was lying, murdering sleaze.

Still, the boy was a Mondego...no doubt the seeds of deception had already been left.

He turned to Ted as the orchestra began a slow and beautiful waltz. A waltz he recognized. He knew Emma did too.

He turned to Ted, “Count Mondego, May I have the permission to invite the countess to join me for a waltz?”

Ted merely shrugged as he grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter, clearly preparing to begin a conversation with other members of the convention.

At this semi-approval, he turned to Emma and extended a hand, “May I?”

—-

Emma’s heart pounded in her chest as she gazed at the man in front of her.

They’d told her Paul was _dead._

She’d been on her knees, praying to the saints shed never believed in before for weeks since he’d been stolen from her, begging them to bring him back to her. She’d even begged her father and Ted's father, asking them to use their influences in court to bring him back, to which she was met by closed doors.

Ted had visited her daily to convince her she was wasting her life in waiting, but she wouldn’t hear it. Until one day, Ted came to her, tears in his eyes as he delivered the damning news.

“ _An accident occurred, Paul Matthews is dead.”_

The news had filled her with a grief that made her sick to her stomach. An anguish she’d not felt since death had claimed Jane.

She’d stayed in her chambers at her parents home, unable to eat or sleep as the grief wracked her body. The shock of the news ripping through her violently. In the days that followed, she felt sick and groggy, unable to focus as the pain of her loss settled into her bones, making her feel more like a ghost than human.

The love of her life was dead and she could do nothing about it but weep. 

It wasn’t until a week after that she realized something else was the cause of her illness.

It was difficult to make the choices that she did. 

Still, her son, _Paul’s_ son- _their_ _son-_ needed a father.

When Ted had made her an offer of marriage, she couldn’t refuse it. So she’d accepted and been married, giving him the news soon after.

When Edgar had been born, she’d wept with both grief and joy. As her son opened his eyes and she was met with that glorious shade of blue, she could only laugh through the tears. In some ways, she supposed, life had given Paul back to her.

He’d come a few weeks early into the world, such a tiny little thing. Part of her was worried that death would try and take her son from her as it had Paul. The midwife had even warned her that Edgar was too small, and that it was unlikely he’d survive the night. Still, she’d shaken her head and opened her arms to the tiny, wailing bundle, wanting her son to be brought to her.

When he’d been placed on her chest as winter was drawing to its end, she had whispered things to him. Words about his true father, about how wonderful he was, how it was a blessing that she somehow had a small piece of Paul to be with them for all time. Silently, she prayed to whatever God that was out there, begging them to not claim the life of her son.

Then Edgar survived the first night.

And then the next.

And then the next, growing stronger and healthier as she remained with him, singing and whispering what she could about his father to him.

As her baby turned into a toddler, and then into a little boy, she felt like life had given her a second chance. A chance to see Paul’s face every day in their son. He was with her on the worst days of her life, making her truly believe her dead weren’t lost to her.

It didn’t matter that her marriage with Ted was an uneventful and miserable one. 

She had a memory of the man she truly loved manifested in a small bundle that stared up at her. In big blue thoughtful eyes that seemed to take in the world for all its beauty, she saw a piece of her soul she’d thought she’d lost. 

Nobody questioned, thankfully, why Edgars eyes were blue.

It was enough for her to survive the wretched days where she cursed herself for making the mistake of marrying Ted.

That didn’t mean that the pain of losing Paul went away.

No, that was a wound that was still very much open and painful.

She felt sinful. 

She felt tainted and dirty.

Every time Ted touched her or referred to her as his wife she felt a bitter and ugly taste spread in her mouth. Still, she remained with him for the sake of Edgar.

But now...now she was staring into the eyes of a man who’d once loved her better than anyone else ever had.

Now, he was extending his hand to her for a dance. A dance to a waltz that they’d both once loved.

Reluctantly she nodded and allowed the stranger with Paul’s eyes to lead her into the dancing hall.

Quickly they took their positions. The feeling of his hand on hers and on her waist made her skin buzz with something she couldn’t tell whether or not she liked.

As the music continued and they fell into a familiar and masterful rhythm, she worked hard to choose her next words.

“Monsieur,” she began, keeping her voice low, as to not attract any unwanted attention, “Pardon me...but have we met before?”

His gaze didn’t shift from her, no new emotions bloomed under his face as he took her in, “No, Madame Mondego, I don’t believe we have.”

_Bullshit_ , her mind snapped. Still, she bit her tongue.

“I’m sorry,” she continued, trying to be wary of the prying eyes of other dancers, “Your eyes just seem familiar to me…”

“Oh?” He mused as he began to move them into a separate, more private dance hall, with few people occupying the space, “How so?”

_Oh. So that’s the angle we’re going to be taking._

“They... remind me of someone I once knew,” she all but whispered, wary of anybody that might have still been watching.

“Once knew?” The count asked, “Pardon my asking, Madame, I don’t intend to pry, but did the gentleman pass on or fall out of your regard?”

In spite of the politeness of the question his tone was cold. The words were like a severe blow to the chest.

“Passed on,” she choked out, meeting his gaze intentionally, “Or so I’ve been told.”

“Ah,” he nodded calmly as they continued with the music that echoed down the halls, “What was the gentleman’s name?”

The music swelled as she locked onto his gaze. The lack of emotion lurking beneath the dark blue familiar sea making her feel like she was the dirtiest, most horrific woman alive. Those eyes tortured her. They no longer held any perceptible trace of affection he might have once held for her.

He knew who he was. He knew what she’d done. And his eyes were tormenting her for it.

She struggled to get a handle on her words as she stared him down.

“Paul Matthews.”

His gaze grew stony as they continued to move in rhythm with the song.

He swallowed hard, his eyes not leaving her as they moved.

“This man,” he began, his tone even and deathly quiet, “...is dead.”

She began to shake her head as he went on, “He is no more. He died a little each day.”

Guilt rose in her chest as he continued to speak. The whispers echoing in his ears as they spin around gently, “Like a thief… the Chateau D’If has stolen him away.”

His gaze softened, “I’m sorry but the mind plays tricks, you are confused...the man you seek is no more. Dead and cold, a story told, by those he trusted, those he loved…”

His next words were what made her break away, her compounded grief and agony from the years shattering her heart and soul.

“...and those who then...moved on.”

She drew herself back from him as the music ended, shaking her head as a son built in her throat. She hurried a curtsy as he bowed respectfully, and began to walk down the hallway as quickly as she could, unwilling and unable to bear another moment of his eyes. The eyes that haunted every pleasant dream she could afford. The eyes that her son bore. The eyes that she could never truly be free of.

Quickly, she bolted for a garden door, stepping away from the noise and the rush as the fresh night air greeted her.

She was in the house of a dead man.

As she strolled through the gardens she could only think about his voice. How traces of the life and love they once shared were in his every intonation. 

He was _alive._

She’d been lied to.

She glanced at the assortment of flowers that surrounded her. Like the ones inside, they were her favorites, adding splashes of color to her black and white life.

It seemed cruel, she thought, that his gardens should be filled with memories of her.

She collapsed onto a bench as the sight of his eyes and the knowledge of what she’d done to harm him while he was supposedly dead crashed upon her in waves that drowned her

Why did the truth seem too hard to be true?

In the cool air of the late summer night, Emma began to sob quietly.

—-

Paul shut the door to his private rooms as he withdrew temporarily from the party.

He needed a moment alone.

His chest filled with disgust and anger at himself.

He’d used his bitterness against her.

It had hurt her.

He could never forgive himself for that.

As he fought back tears, he reminded himself what he had the moment he’d stepped back into this desolate damned city.

_I am a ghost._

_Just a mirage._

_Who chases traces...of you._

Emma’s smile appeared in his mind again. A warm, beautiful smile from before they’d been ripped away from one another. In spite of the bitterness and anger that he felt towards her and Ted, he felt slightly happy at the memory. As always, her memory comforting him at the most desolate of times.

She had been his life.

Then she’d been torn away from him.

He’d been thrown in the dark while she moved on. 

She’d... _moved on._

He had a plan and he had to move on.

The tears fell silently as he reminded himself of what he needed to accomplish. 

Justice was his end.

No matter how much it tortured him, he had to remember that Paul Matthews was dead.

In his place stood the Count of Monte Cristo. 

So...why couldn’t he be free?

So, allowing himself a few moments in the silence, muring the laughter and music of the party in his mind, he allowed the tears to fall...in some cruel way, allowing Paul Matthews to love again.

—-

As the two remained, wiping away the tears they cried for a life they both wanted, but had lost to the greed of others, they could only think of each other. 

Of the dance they’d shared.

Of how naturally they’d fallen into a rhythm again.

How painful it had felt to meet under the visage of indifference.

It was painful, but Paul knew he still loved Emma.

And Emma still very much loved Paul.

Still, the brutal truth remained...

With so much broken, and so much damage, there were no words left for them to say.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you guys liked this!!!  
> If you want me to post separate one shots related to this AU, just let me know!
> 
> Please leave comments or kudos to let me know what you think!!!
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! Please have an amazing and safe day!!!!
> 
> My Tumblr: @ShhImAvoidingSleep


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